Synesthesiac's Brain, or, Poem to Get it Out

I'm very sane, but my hidden fears are wild
And hard to fathom.
I've decided to tell them (tell on them),
to see if together they say more than their lonesome selves.
For years, decades, I've comforted myself
that if 'push came to shove', I would go hide out
in a tall night-empty office building.
I'd not use any lights, but I'd have a bouquet of flowers.
I'd be alone,
in the empty building, in the empty (business) neighborhood.
I'd be unseen as a mouse.
(Maybe I wouldn't have that bouquet.
Maybe I think I am that bouquet).
Driving by, I don't want to see a light blue possession
on a run-down lawn.
Like, say, a blue classic car in a poorer neighborhood.
Disappointment's headed their way!
(sticks out like a sore thumb)
Misfortune's gonna zero in on that spot of blue!
I have to look away.Don't want to be there to see it.
If you clip your yard too tidily, or worse, have a couple kitschy ornaments,
I better be careful to not get hurt and crawl past that door!.
They'd stone one like me!
(more likely just turn away, grousing about the trail of blood)
People like that detest artists like me,
who see possibilities in wind strewn wreckage

On the other hand, passing a chartreuse truck that looks like
a giant grasshopper! Now, that can reassure me.
I like giant grasshoppers. They mean, "All is well",
even if zooming by at 70 miles per hour.
And a lonely, old-fashioned light fixture,
in the curving shape of a bell,
albeit in some forgotten outskirts......
The bell shape is a Mother leaning over her child,
A beacon among the rocks, for me.
It clearly says, "Keep on, Love has passed this way once.
You may run into her. Keep on".
Well, that's enough for now. You get the point, or,
I get the point:
----"They're out to get me."
----"Disappointment stalks naive hope."
----"Lovers of order hate artists like me."
On the other hand:
----"Color can cheer as well as portend trouble".... and,
----"Shape can speak of love."

* * * * * * *

I bounce from unintended message to half remembered trauma
Touched off by what's NOT central to history's chain of events.
Peripheral to, not causative:
......The horse afraid of the white cowboy hat he saw at the moment
that lighting struck near him!
This is but a brain tendency, and who runs me?

My brain, or me.

My brain........or me.

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